


A Soldier and a Rebel

by fanaticismrestrained



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crush, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Red Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanaticismrestrained/pseuds/fanaticismrestrained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Marquise introduces the Expatriate to a lowblood rebel, the Expatriate explains himself to the Summoner, and the Expatriate begins to have feelings for someone who is already in a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The building that housed the Expatriate was not a big one. It was styled in the manner of all blueblooded manors, but it was substantially scaled down. Personages of his disgraced status were not given as much attention as would be expected for one of his caste, so Expatriate Darkleer wallowed there for sweeps upon sweeps. Days passed slowly. The perigrees blurred together until time began to lose its meaning. He got up in the evening, tended to his machinery projects and outer gardens, for he no longer had servants to do it for him, and ate sporadically as his stomach and supplies dictated. That is, until she came back.

The Marquise visited him one day after a period of no longer responding to his messages. Their relationship had been faltering for a long time since she had first saved him from his superiors after the... incident. It was only a matter of time, he had assumed, until it broke apart completely. After hearing her story, he judged it was because she was no longer heeding his advice. Not that she had been one to listen to others in the first place, but you’d expect more from your moirail, wouldn’t you?

Her tale of her capture and escape was riveting, truth be told, but the Expatriate was simply content with the fact that she was alive. He even got the opportunity to pay her back with a commissioned prosthetic arm. Having a new project was something he hadn’t been blessed with in a long while, so he appreciated the distraction from his graying existence. It was not hard to complete her arm, given the fact that he had spent much time practicing with robotics and other metalworking projects of his own accord.

He had met her prosecutor before, and he had respected her quite a bit, for a multitude of reasons. The Neophyte’s dedication to her work, and the upholding of order, was something that Darkleer appreciated. She was clever, intelligent, and quick-thinking, with martial prowess to match. Perhaps the most impressive thing about her was her ability to work well with the Grand Highblood. Anyone who had a cordial relationship with that troll deserved an award. The only thing he didn’t appreciate about her was her attempt to make him give up information on Mindfang. To ask a troll to betray his moirail was one of the worst things he could imagine.

Such thoughts swirled in his think pan during the retelling of the Marquise’s story, and sadness gripped him as he heard of the Neophyte’s death. It would have been far better if Mindfang had been able to escape without killing her, but what was done could not be undone. Darkleer knew better than anyone else how useless it was to dwell upon the past, though he doubtlessly did it more than others. At the conclusion of her story and the completion of her arm, Darkleer returned one of her precious possessions to her; her milky oracle. The spherical object confounded Darkleer, but she had supposedly been able to see visions by peering into it with her vision eightfold.

The Expatriate was not one to dabble in fortunetelling or other things of that nature, and did not believe in the validity of such things. His belief was that such things were for wigglers to believe in, and someone of his status… or, rather, someone who was once of his status, should not trust oracles. However, Mindfang’s prophecies were stunningly accurate, and she was able to predict events sweeps in advance with no evidence at the time to support her predictions. As Mindfang held the oracle in her hands, for what she insisted was the last time, she told Darkleer one last prophecy; one of a coming rebellion spearheaded by a lowblooded leader. She also insisted that this leader would become her matesprit, and he didn’t doubt her. She hadn’t been wrong before, after all, and he couldn’t imagine how it might affect him.

He was far more interested in the rebellion she mentioned, but of course he didn’t press the topic. There was no desire in him to reopen some of his old wounds, so he instead asked her what she planned to do with the oracle. The Marquise smiled, tapping her fingers on the table. “Darkleer, wasn’t there a small crypt located a mile or so from here?” It took Darkleer several seconds, but once he had thought about it for a while, he realized what she was talking about.

“Yes, Mindfang, but I don’t know what that has to do with...” Halfway through his sentence, he realized what she was implying. It actually wasn’t a bad idea. Considering how out of the way his hive was and the location of that crypt in particular, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that it would be hard to find. “Are you certain that location will be safe? That is a very precious artifact of yours, after all...”

Mindfang scoffed at his words, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve already considered that, Darkleer... but tell me, who would dare open a door they will likely never find, to a crypt bearing the mark of one of the exiled, and manage to find a single, small sphere in the corner of the crypt? Only the most dedicated and avaricious of treasure hunters would think to look for it... and even that danger will be gone when you see what I’ve already done with the place. Come on, I’ll show you something good.” She latched onto his arm, dragging him out of his hive.

Less than an hour later, the Marquise had shown that she had already carved his symbol onto the front of the door, and it took her no less than eight minutes to unlock the door and force her way inside. Laying on the floor of the crypt was a pile of glittering gold treasure. Even Darkleer couldn’t stop himself from gaping at the coins before him. “Did... did you really make this location a storehouse for your gold? Why on Alternia would you place so much of your plunder near my hive?”

“A good pirate keeps her treasure scattered in many places so it will not be lost all at once.” She explained as if the idea that she wouldn’t hide it was preposterous. “There are several others nearby your property, Darkleer, because nobody monitors you. It is the perfect place for me to hide funds. Now don’t go hunting for them. I expect I shall need them in the future.” He, of course, swore not to, and he watched as she dropped the oracle into a corner of the crypt, away from the pile of gold in the middle of the room. She hid it beneath a black piece of fabric, and soon the door was locked, and she was off to who knew what lands.

By the time he had returned to his hive, the sensation of having someone else in his life had faded once again... he was alone.


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darkleer meets the Summoner for the first time, and Mindfang reawakens her love for her money.

Sweeps passed yet again, and the Expatriate returned to his melancholy. He attempted to keep himself in shape, though it was a meager effort, and his strength began to wane. His archery lost its luster as well, and he found that he could no longer get bulls-eye after bulls-eye. The target was not so elusive that he ended up missing entirely, but his pride was beginning to die. To avoid completely losing his will to continue, he attempted to distract himself with a rather unusual hobby for a troll; gardening. He was not particularly good at it, but it gave him exercise, a distraction, and something nice to look upon outside his hive.

Of course, he was concerned that Mindfang would return and ruin his garden, but after sweeps past and several of his trees grew into young adulthood, he lost that fear. The outside of his hive became a beautiful place during the day, but at night, when Darkleer awoke, it wore a different mask. Outside his hive was cloaked in darkness, and the inside was heavy with undisturbed dust. Sure enough, he cleaned every once in a while, but the stagnation that was coming into his hive was not something that could be cleared away easily.

Many sweeps later, tired of the monotony, Darkleer was surprised by a rather unusual noise; that is, his doorbell. The insistent nature of the ringing helped him realize who was at the door. With effort, the Expatriate managed to bring some more energy into his being, which he used to answer the door and welcome his visitor inside. Though he expected only one visitor, much to his surprise, he got two.

In front of him stood two trolls, one familiar, one… not so much. The unfamiliar one was young, clearly, and seemed very hostile. If not hostile, then uncomfortable would be better used to describe him. He stood on the balls of his feet, in a stance that seemed very much like he was preparing for a fight or flight scenario. His head turned from side to side, clearly searching for danger. His garb was that of a... pretty high ranking Cavalreaper. Pretty impressive, considering the young one’s apparent age... though Darkleer wasn’t able to mull over the information for much longer before the familiar troll charged in an pushed him aside.

“Dammit, Expatriate! Why did it take you so long to open the door? I was getting impatient.” The Marquise stormed in a huff. “I swear if you took any more than five seconds longer, I was going to kick the damn door in!”

The Expatriate sighed, allowing the raging ex-pirate to storm into his hive and berate him for his lethargy. It was really the same-old, same-old, so he had started tuning it out. It was almost like she reiterated the same speech from memory every time. “Marquise, I assure you, it is not a reflection on your personal importance. The slowness of my actions can be attributed to surprise that anyone would be at my door. I had assumed you would never come back.”

The Marquise waved her prosthetic at him dismissively, groaning and placing her hand on her forehead. “Of course I came back, you giant of a troll. I’m here for my treasure. I left plenty of it around here, and I want it back. I also need you to take a look at this stupid thing. It’s pretty decent craftsmanship, but it seems to be malfunctioning slightly. I want it fixed. Now.”

Ever the pushy one, wasn’t she? Of course, that was the only reason she had been able to rouse the Expatriate from his depressive haze when she found it fit to be his moirail. It was nice to have someone care for you, even if that person did care for you such an aggressive way. He nodded, speaking again. “Of course. I will deal with the prosthetic first, and then you can hunt down all your treasures. I hope, for your sake, that you didn’t put them anywhere I might accidentally discard them.”

Darkleer was about to let go of the door, but he stopped, realizing the other troll was still outside. The skepticism and wariness of the troll was understandable, to be honest. Of course, Darkleer was not under orders to commit any killings, and he rather hated the idea of everyone being scared away from him. Unconsciously taking note of the other troll’s huge horns, Darkleer gestured the troll forward with a single hand. “You are, of course, permitted to come inside. There is no one else here other than myself and the Marquise. Do take care with those horns of yours...”

The other troll’s suspicions seemed to deepen, but with a groan from Mindfang, he was finally coerced to come into Darkleer’s hive. He didn’t really watch the other troll enter, but considering the grunting and frustrated noises he heard, he assumed that he was having some issues, likely linked to his horns. Darkleer gestured to one of the chairs in the foyer. “You are free to take a seat there, if you wish. You may also explore the first floor of my hive, but please do not come into the basement. That is where I will be working, and I prefer not to be interrupted.”

The irony in that statement was how often Mindfang had annoyed the Expatriate while he was working, leading to a number of broken projects and a few temper tantrums. At least that had happened while they were still relatively strong moirails... she had calmed him down pretty efficiently, even when she was the reason for his outburst of anger. While he was reminiscing, Mindfang had begun dragging the Expatriate away from the other troll, apparently finding the idea of proper introductions to be pointless.

Soon enough, Mindfang had released Darkleer in his working block, striding over to the work table at which she had been fitted for her arm. “Come on, Darkleer, I really haven’t got all night.” Her tone was one of sarcastic jest, or as close to it as Darkleer knew she could manage.

“Of course, of course. I will make sure everything is in working order.” Darkleer took his time to make sure he had all of his tools, as well as several replacement parts for the rarer parts in the Marquise’s arm. When he had gathered everything, he placed them down next to the prosthetic. Mindfang’s impatience would almost be amusing, if it wasn’t so annoying sometimes. “I know how much you like to talk, Mindfang... so, would you care to talk about who that stranger is? You don’t get along well with others... you and I both know that. What makes this one so special?” The provoking words were only spoken as Darkleer started to work on the arm, disassembling its outer casing so he could see its insides.

“Ugh, Expatriate. Wouldn’t you prefer for me to start with “Oh, darling Darkleer, how are you? Your lovely garden out front is stunning, how do you do it?” Then you’d reply in some grumpy tone about how it wasn’t a big deal what you were growing and that you were melancholy like always. I was going to get to that, you fool.” She winced as he twisted one of the wires connected to the nerves. “You did that on purpose.”

Darkleer shrugged and replied to her, voice even and quiet. “Of course not. Do not be preposterous.” He hid the smallest of smirks behind his curtain of hair, continuing to work on her arm. “We won’t discuss my gardening. I have been doing it to relieve anger, stress, and to lessen my depression. It is working out alright. Now, I’m going to work on the rest of your arm. I think there was something that got twisted inside it. You should take the opportunity to talk while I need to focus.” Darkleer’s tongue stuck out of his mouth the slightest bit, making the face he unconsciously formed when tinkering with mechanics.

The groan Mindfang let out was so dragged out the Expatriate could tell it was exaggerated. “Fiiiiiiiine... if you’re that against discussing your frivolous flower arranging, I suppose I can talk about him. He’s known as the Summoner. He’s pretty close to becoming the head of the Cavalreapers, actually... and I’m helping him out with that. You should see him fight. It’s pretty impressive actually... I almost swooned.” She chuckled before another stab of pain caught her off guard. “Fine, I lied. I didn’t swoon. I was still impressed though... that never stopped being a thing.”

Darkleer had enough focus to ask Mindfang a single question while tinkering with the small mechanisms within her arm. Once he was done messing with the sensory wires, he breathed out a sigh. “A Cavalreaper, hm? Old habits die hard, you know... I have to ask. What’s his caste? He seemed rather warm hued, though I didn’t take too long of a look at him.” The Expatriate immediately returned to his work, passing the subject off as something to pass the time with.

Mindfang sighed, rubbing her forehead. “It’s the same old hemospectrum shit with you, isn’t it, Expatriate? I would have thought by now you would have gotten over it.” Darkleer’s silence permitted her to continue, though he was too focused on his work to hear her comment. “He’s a bronzeblood. A pretty talented one if you ask me. Rather impressionable, but from the looks of it not a total psychic pushover. A ton of fun... more fun than I’ve had in a while. His psychics give him communication with lesser beasts...”

“Was this the lowblood you predicted you would have in your flushed quadrant?” Darkleer interjected, a frown plastering itself on his face.

“My god, Darkleer, don’t give me that shit. Just because he’s a lowblood doesn’t mean he-“  
“Mindfang!” Darkleer yelled, stopping her from continuing. He took a deep breath before speaking again, now in a softer voice, his words laden with concern. “I am not inquiring because of his caste. I am asking you because I am concerned about you. I don’t want you throwing yourself into a relationship without... well, I know you think things through. You always do. But if this puts you into another situation like the Redglare incident...” He shook his head and finished putting her arm back together. “Nevermind. Your arm is repaired, you are free to go. You should try to find the treasure soon.”

The Marquise paused, delayed by Darkleer’s genuine concern. She reached over with her fleshy hand and patted his cheek. “Don’t worry. As you said, I’ve thought this through. I know exactly how this is going to go. You don’t have to worry. You should talk to the Summoner, actually... you need other interaction besides me. Sound good?” She stood up and flexed her metallic arm, pleased that it was functioning without the minor problem it had before. For a second longer she lingered before departing from the room, going to hunt for her treasure.

Darkleer paused for a while, mulling over her suggestion. He agreed, honestly. He wanted to talk to someone else other than his... ex-moirail? They never officially broke it off, but... he was pretty sure they had never officially started it. What harm could it do? He had never been expressly forbidden from conversing from others. With effort, Darkleer lethargically hauled himself off the chair he was on, and he made his way back to the foyer, where he found the Summoner inspecting a rusting suit of armor.

“I hope you are doing well, ‘Summoner’.” There was the defensive position again, and the Summoner held it as he was about to open his mouth. “The Marquise told me, Summoner. I would recommend that you calm down. There is no reason to be alarmed.”

The Summoner’s eyes still looked around, as if expecting a fight. Darkleer pulled out two chairs, dragging them to face each other in front of the suit of armor. “Sit, please. The Marquise will be gone for a while, and I figured it would be nice to talk for a while.” Darkleer slid into a seat, waiting for the Summoner to comply. He didn’t.

“What’s the deal, with this suit of armor? It looks like it is, military grade, but a hell of a lot, well, fancier. Care to explain?” the Summoner seemed skeptical of the Expatriate’s motives, and seemed to be trying to get him to talk. Fine then, Darkleer would show him exactly how talkative he could be.

“It’s... it’s a long story. It is a military harness, and it has a corresponding tabard that goes over it. Its tale is a complicated and upsetting one for me. Perhaps I could tell you some other time?” Darkleer didn’t want to talk about it. At all. Judging by Mindfang’s natural thoroughness, Mindfang would probably get all the money she’d need before leaving and never coming back. After all, once all the money’s gone, why would she have a reason to come back? He’d be able to avoid the issue no problem.

“You are a member of the military, correct? A Cavalreaper, if I am not mistaken. Quite the difficult role you’ve taken on. You have earned my respect for your efforts. How exactly did you manage to climb to such a high rank at such a young age...? However you did it, it must have been impressive.” He didn’t add in the fact that the he was a low caste also confused him, because surely he was worthy of the position regardless of his blood color. The Expatriate found that, deep inside him, he secretly didn’t care about the hue either.

“Yeah. I’m a Cavalreaper, next in line to become, the head of the Cavalreapers. They’re pretty sure, the current one’s gonna croak, relatively soon, so they expect me to, be able to pick up his slack. Especially with, the subjuggalators, because the current Cavalreaper head, is on good terms, with the Grand Highblood.” The Summoner seemed... proud, partially, of his accomplishment, but also rather... ticked. Darkleer wasn’t exactly sure why, perhaps it was something related to the Highblood? Honestly, Darkleer couldn’t blame Summoner for any hate he felt for the miserable highblood. Was the Summoner perhaps...?

“I will give you a bit of friendly advice on this matter, assuming I’m not assuming something incorrectly. I would not pursue caliginous entanglement with the Grand Highblood. I can assure you he will not recip-“ Darkleer only managed to get the sentence halfway out of his mouth before the Summoner’s face twisted in horror and disgust. The lowblood covered his mouth with one hand, miming an evacuation of his digestive tract. “Sorry, I must have been mistaken. The recommendation still holds.”

“Why would I ever, want to be, in the black quadrant, with that unbelievable pissant?” The Summoner’s words came out harshed, mixed with years of repressed distaste. He shook his head slightly, obviously aware of the dangers his horns posed in a hive not prepared for someone of their size.

“Forgive me, I was mistaken. There is an uncomfortable trend... or, at least, there was, of young trolls in the army gaining hatecrushes on the Highblood... It was quite unsettling seeing so many of my subordinates disappearing. Keeping your distance from the Highblood is preferable, and if you speak with him...” Darkleer kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. “Don’t try to make him laugh. Mindfang can tell you what happened to the last troll who tried to make the Highblood laugh. He’s a violet stain on the wall at this point.”

The Summoner’s face twisted into a grimace. “Seadweller, you mean? You mean to tell me, a seadweller, was reduced to a state, where he, or she, thought it would be a good idea, to approach, the Highblood? That is, actually really funny, in a way. I’m glad the Highblood, didn’t put up with his shit, I bet that story, would be fun to listen to.”

Darkleer smiled gently as he rubbed his chin. One of his hands planted itself on the arm of his chair, and he leaned towards the Summoner. “You are in luck. There is a very good storyteller close at hand, and I think you should ask her for the story. After all, she is a centerpiece in the tale. She’ll be glad to tell you the story, no doubt, of what happened to cause his demise. Now then...” Darkleer hefted himself onto his feet, an action that caused the Summoner to back away a step and hold his weapon tighter. “... what would you like to drink? I have a large quantity of milk, as well as some tea, coffee, and some of Mindfang’s infernal vodka. If you’d prefer the heftier beers, however, or some more sophisticated wine, I can also provide those.”

The point of the Summoner’s lance pointed downwards as he listened to Darkleer’s question. His jaw was involuntarily hanging open, and once he realized what he was doing, the Summoner shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What, do you mean, by that?”

The Expatriate sighed and stretched, knuckles cracking loudly as he absentmindedly laced his fingers together and straightened his arms. “I mean what I say. You are a guest in my hive, and shall be treated as such. Now, considering the Marquise is taking so long to find her ‘treasures’, and she hasn’t announced a need for assistance nor a signal that she is nearly ready, I suspect she will be taking a while longer. I may no longer have the rank I once had, but I still have my manners. Now, do you have a preference?”

A short silence hung in the air, and Darkleer thought perhaps he had gone too far... inadvertently offended the brownblood, perhaps? The second he finished his thought, however, the Summoner spoke. “It’s too early, for booze, and I think that, drinking alcohol now, is not really the best idea, but I do like tea, sort of, it’s pretty good, so that would be nice.”

“Excellent. I will be back in about five minutes.” Darkleer wondered if the Marquise would even take five minutes to finish retrieving all her gold, but he thought he might as well try to be hospitable. “Please sit, if you would like. It would be better than putting stress on your legs.” The words left his mouth as he moved towards the door. He noticed the Summoner seemed to have no intention to move... if Darkleer had been who he used to be, he would have probably gotten angry. Not anymore.

Five minutes and thirty seven seconds later, Darkleer had returned to the room bearing a tray with two mugs and saucers on it. To his sincere surprise, the brownblood was actually sitting down in a chair. He had chosen to sit in the chair facing Darkleer’s, and Darkleer approached him calmly. “The tea is done. I hope the taste is to your liking.” The Expatriate picked up a mug-bearing saucer and offered it to the Summoner. As he prepared to sit down and take a drink of his own tea, Darkleer kept an eye on the Summoner.

The lowblood took a sip of the tea, seeming to find it acceptable. Darkleer sat in his chair, and was about to open his mouth to speak when the Summoner put his tea down on his lap and spoke first. “Okay, I’ll be honest, I don’t really understand, what you’re playing at here, and I’d like you to cut the shit, and stop pretending to, you know, treat me equally. You’re obviously, planning something, some sort of embarrassing thing, to ruin my reputation, or something of that nature, indigo bloods never treat trolls of my caste, with respect, or as equals.”

“Ah... so that’s it. You’re expecting hemoism... I can’t say I blame you.” Darkleer sipped his tea, sighing heavily. There seemed to be a weight on him, holding him down and stopping him from continuing. After gathering his thoughts, the Expatriate managed to respond. “To be fair, if you had asked me... perhaps a century or two ago, I may have fulfilled your expectations. But now...” A short chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything of the sort. Intentionally, you must understand.”

The brownblood snorted in disbelief, cracking his knuckles one by one. “Bullshit, that sounds like, such a lie, be serious, because I’m not serving under you, and I don’t have to take, your crap, so tell me the truth, because, no one would care if, an exile died, no matter who killed him.” Darkleer let out another heavy breath, setting his cup to the side. His fingers glided over his temples, brushing over them before he started to actually begin to massage his temples.

“I am being one hundred percent truthful. To put my philosophy succinctly, I have adopted the words of a famous troll from many years ago. He once said, forgive my language, “You assholes need to stop being dicks to each other for more than five seconds and get along. It doesn’t matter what color swill flows through your veins, every single one of you little shits is a troll, and we have an obligation as a race to help each other.” Or, so he said, if I remember him correctly.” 

Darkleer was not surprised to see the Summoner’s face express a look of nonchalant disbelief.  
“Oh, yeah, sure, and it turns out that oinkbeasts, have gained the ability to fly, and that there are kittens, who love to swim, in the ocean, and also that musclebeasts, are much weaker, than they used to be, and also they are now top heavy, so that even woolbeasts, can knock them over. Give me a break, indigo blood, I’m not a wriggler, though you probably think I am, considering how old you are, even older than Mindfang, which is old.” He stopped, his eyes growing wide as he looked around. “Uh, don’t tell her, that I said that.”

Oh, the brashness and skepticism of youth. A small smirk manifested in the corner of Darkleer’s mouth. “I won’t. I know better than that. She still has plenty of life in her, as I am sure you are aware. The Marquise doesn’t like being insulted, or being told anything that could be interpreted as such. Regardless, the troll I quoted would be insulted to see someone in my situation practicing hemoism. I feel... obligated to do what I can to avoid insulting him further than the dominant forces in society have so far.” Another sip of his tea, the taste pleasing him despite the conversation’s potential for disaster.

The Summoner still seemed skeptical. Again, not that surprising, really. Darkleer knew full well how tirelessly Her Imperious Condescension worked to eradicate that troll’s memory from history. The bronzeblood took a long drink from the mug in his hand before he responded. “I have never heard, of anyone of that nature, or that disposition, or fame, at all. Do you really expect me, to believe you, that easily?” The scowl on the man’s face was surprisingly wounding, though Darkleer didn’t know why he cared so much about what the Summoner thought.

“It is understandable that you haven’t heard of him. His tale has been erased from history... or rather, should I say, erased from written history. The tale of the Signless has been embedded in the minds of those who lived during that time, myself and the Marquise included. In fact, it is due to the Signless that the Marquise and I met.” A pause, followed by silence. The Summoner’s skepticism transformed into curiosity, and Darkleer watched his facial expression changed to match his attitude.

“So, tell me about this, Signless, and his teachings, or his tale, or whatever. It sounds interesting, and relevant to my interests, primarily being, not treated like garbage, by highbloods, which is obviously, the current state of affairs, and I’m sick of it. I want to hear about this, secret history, that our Empress, tried so hard, to hide, and I swear that I won’t, you know, spread it around, or anything, because that would be stupid, and get me killed, probably.” The lowblood was actually leaning forward in his chair, clearly excited by the idea of hearing about this topic.

Unfortunately, judging by the noises he could hear upstairs, Mindfang must have finished her search. In the short time before she appeared on the first floor once more, Darkleer sipped at his tea once more before answering the Summoner. “I am not a storyteller by any possible definition of the word. I would not be able to explain to you the events that occurred in any well-planned fashion. If you are truly curious, I would add a request to hear about the Signless when you ask the Marquise about her trials and tribulations with particular piratical seadwellers. After all, she witnessed events from a far more unbiased perspective than I did, and she would be more skilled at weighing both sides of the situation.”

Darkleer managed to get the last few words out mere seconds before Mindfang appeared in the room, a cloth sack in each hand and her horns simply covered in gold jewelry. How on earth had she managed to hide so many valuables in his hive without him noticing? It was probably due to her skill with hunting for and hiding her treasure... she had been able to hide that crypt containing her oracle with stunning skill. He doubted anyone would be able to find it without her diary to help them. The cerulean blooded guest was laughing... almost cackling, actually, with the sheer pleasure of her success.

“Yes!” the woman exclaimed, the ‘e’ in the word dragged out in the same way she always did when excited. “About damn time! I found everything I need, Expatriate, so I think we’ll be going now. Better keep up that effort with the garden, you need something to do with your life!” The only acceptable response, he assumed, was a passive nod of acquiescence, which he performed unintentionally and absentmindedly.

The Summoner stood up from his chair, grinning and drinking the last of the tea in his mug. Soon the mug was placed on its saucer and returned to Darkleer, who placed it on the tray with a quietly muttered thank you. The Summoner stretched his body, scratching at his back with a frown on his face. He seemed almost... pained, for some reason. Pained and uncomfortable, actually. It seemed that the Summoner truly needed to get out of that hive as soon as possible, so Darkleer removed the mug and saucer from his lap so that he could stand up as well.

“It was a pleasure seeing you again, Marquise Mindfang, and it was also a pleasure meeting you, Summoner. Please do enjoy your evening. I will see you out.” He maneuvered himself past the Summoner and over to the door on the other side of the room, opening it so that his guests could leave. After a short delay consisting of Mindfang tossing the two sacks into Summoner’s hands so she could knock Darkleer’s helmet forward and over his eyes, the bronzeblood left the building. With the Summoner gone, Mindfang fixed Darkleer’s helmet, a grin on her face.

“I’ll be back if this damn arm breaks again. Until then, I’m serious. Keep on working on that garden. It’s good seeing you do... something again, even if it’s something as completely idiotic as gardening.” A muttered ‘of course’ answered her demands, and though she seemed rather disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm, she gave him a pat on the back anyway and left him alone. Darkleer watched the Marquise meet up with the lowblood, and once they had walked out of sight, he shut the door behind him.

The Expatriate sat down in his previously occupied chair, taking small sips of his tea as he mulled over what had just occurred. It seemed the Marquise wasn’t leaping into the relationship or forcing the Summoner to be flushed for her. He had gotten used to the signs that someone was being manipulated by her, and the Summoner did not act like one of those buffoons in the slightest. It was quite honestly a surprise, though he thought it was promising. After all, if she could mature enough to hold herself back from manipulating others into relationships with her, perhaps she would also stop making dangerous and life threatening decisions.

A perigree later, a knock on the door proved his prediction wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Thanks for reading the prologue! This is how I like to imagine the series of events played out with Darkleer, Mindfang, and the Summoner. It is, of course, biased due to my personal inclinations, but isn't everything?


End file.
